In The Dark
by CrumpledWings
Summary: Present Day:Christine Daae is a theatre dancer taking singing lessons from the Angel of Music. Erik Destler is her Angerl & the new criminal in town. Raoul Chagny is her boyfriend & a cop. Paths will surely cross & sparks fly! full summary inside!


Summary: Present Day. Christine Daaé is a young ballet dancer in Monroe Montgomery Theatre taking lessons from the mysterious "Angel of Music". Raoul Chagny is her boyfriend and a cop. Erik Destler is the theatre's main sponsor, the new criminal in town, and Christine's secret instructor. Paths will surely cross! How will it turn out? Read and find out! Rated K+ just in case!

n/a: Alright, I couldn't resist. I'm doing a present day POTO fanfic. Hope you like it. :D

In the Dark

Chapter 1:

Christine impatiently checked her watch again. She was already fifteen minutes late for rehearsals. Miz Giry, the producer, was going to _kill_ her. It was her third time being late that week. It wasn't that she was a flake; she tried to get there on time, she honestly did. But work and school that week had been hectic, and now the traffic gods were inflicting their wrath upon her. Oh, could this _get_ any worse? She groaned and threw her head back into her seat. At the rate she was going, she would arrive to practice a half an hour late.

Finally, her bus pulled to a stop. Launching herself out of the vehicle, she sprinted down the block until she was staring at the Monroe Montgomery Theatre. It was large, three stories plus the attic, and very old. She darted in the side entrance, hoping the dancers weren't needed yet and she could slip backstage unnoticed.

Slip backstage, she was able to do, but not unnoticed. "Christine!" She turned at the sound of name, but she already knew who was calling it.

"Did they notice I was gone?" she asked Meg, her absolute best friend. She was a dancer and chorus girl, like Christine, as well as Miz Giry's daughter.

"They _would_ have, if I hadn't begged and pleaded with John to wait before giving Ron the attendance sheet. You owe me." She put her hands on her hips. "It's all good, John. I _told _you she'd show up," she called to the stagehand. John did a lot of things for the director, Ronald. Unfortunately for him, being the favorite didn't save him from the director's boorish attitude.

John laughed good-naturedly. "I guess you win, Meg."

Christine sighed pointedly at Meg. As everybody in the cast knew, and Meg felt no shame in utilizing, John was crushing hard on her. It really wasn't that hard to fathom; Meg was a petite little thing, but she had spunk in her. With her gold hair and sapphire eyes, Christine was more than used to guys lining up for her.

Fortunately for Christine, she'd had the good sense to wear her leotard and leggings to practice. At just that moment, they heard their cue to go onstage. Taking her place beside Meg, Christine let go of all the week's stress and freed herself to the wonderful feeling of being on stage.

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"That's enough!" barked Ronald. "We'll wrap up for today. Go home, practice_ a lot_, and perhaps tomorrow you incompetent fools can show me a _sliver_ of talent!"

Christine cringed along with the rest of the cast. Ronald was, at his best, a rampaging ogre. Luckily for them, they had yet to see him at his very worst. Then again, judging by how terrible his common rages were, that thought wasn't so comforting.

Miz Giry approached the red-faced director and laid a hand on his shoulder. Ronald didn't mistake it as a soothing gesture. It was a sign to step down and let her do whatever it was she wanted to do. She stepped up to face the actors on stage, uncomfortably lingering to hear what she had to say. "Before you all go, I would like to make an announcement. Our number one sponsor and administrator, Mr. Erik Destler, has arrived today to view the progress of our production. He is not currently present, but will be spending quite some time around the theatre. I am sure you will all welcome and accept him, despite his…_peculiarities_. That is all. You may leave." With that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room.

Uneasy whispers spread throughout the room. Nearly everyone knew who Mr. Destler _was_, but no one had ever actually seen or spoken to him. He usually didn't even bother to show up at the theatre except for the last performance of whatever production they were doing, where he sat in his reserved seat in Box 5, and left right after curtain call. He was certainly an allusive administrator.

Meg couldn't stop chatting about him backstage as they changed into regular clothes. "I can't believe Mr. Destler will _actually_ be here. My mom goes to meet him all the time, but I've never met him. Not even when I was a little kid. And she didn't even _tell_ me about his arrival. I wonder what's with all the secrecy."

Christine shrugged as she pulled on her long-sleeved wine-colored shirt. "We can only guess."

Meg brightened as though an idea had struck her. "I bet he, like, works for the government or something, and he has to keep a low profile." She grinned triumphantly. "What do you think?"

"Honestly Meg, I don't know. He's got to have a lot of money, based on what I've heard and how much he supports the theatre. He's probably just a busy guy."

"Yeah, but didn't you hear Mom; she said his 'peculiarities'. What could _that_ mean?"

Christine shrugged again. "Maybe he has a bad attitude, or odd tastes. You know Meg, if you want to know so badly, why don't you just ask your mom?"

"Yeah, like that'll work." She snorted indignantly. "_That is none of your concern, my child. Mr. Destler's business is his business alone_," she said in a perfect impression of her mother's heavy French accent. She rolled her eyes. "_Madame Giry_ prefers to keep me in the dark." Miz Giry told people to call her "Madame Giry", but no one besides other people on the theatre board did.

Christine laid a comforting hand on her friend's back. "Well, he'll be around. We can find out what we want the old fashioned way. With our sleuth-like skills." This caused both girls to laugh. Christine said good-bye to Meg and quickly left the building. If she didn't hurry, she was going to be late to her date. As if showing up to rehearsals weren't bad enough, now she was going to keep her boyfriend Raoul waiting. Deciding to walk instead of risking the traffic again, she set off down the still-crowded streets to make her way to her apartment.

Darkness had fallen by the time rehearsals were over. She couldn't see any stars in the sky because of the city lights, but high in the sky, Christine saw the crescent moon, a thin sliver of silvery light in the dark. Sometimes that was how she felt; like there was only a minute amount of light in the dark world. And as soon as she took her eyes off it, it would disappear completely and leave her drowning in the darkness. There were times…times when she lost track of it, that little light…

She shuddered to shake the thoughts from her mind. Right now, she needed to focus on getting home, getting changed, and getting to her date. She surged on through the crowds, and it wasn't until she was about halfway home that she realized she had left her book bag back at the theatre.

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The theatre was pitch black and absolutely silent. Just how Erik liked it. Sighing, he relaxed and ran his fingers lightly over his violin. Despite his talent, he preferred to play his music when he was alone. He would never willingly sing or play with an audience. No, music, wonderful music, showed a part of the soul. And he would never, so long as he lived, reveal his soul to another. It would be torment to them both.

But he was all alone now. He could play and sing to his hearts content, with no one the wiser. With a secret, almost-smile, he got ready to play…

The side door in the back of the building opened. It was far away from the music room he was in, but he had impeccable hearing. He put down his violin angrily. What fool was here? Madame Giry and Nadir Khan, his closest and _only_ friends (he used the term loosely), wouldn't bother him now; they knew better. Even the other idiots on the board, including that pompous director, were warned against coming to the theatre after practice hours. He growled. It had to be one of the young performers. He honestly didn't think he could stand to associate with one of the little ditzes right now. The sound tiny footsteps echoed in the house, heading for the choir room. Erik was in an adjacent room hidden to everyone who used the theatre (he had built it himself). On the back wall of the choir room (the front wall for Erik), was a one way window. He could see everything on the other side, but no one could see within. He smirked. _Let's see who our little intruder is, shall we?_

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Christine slipped into the choir room. Although she knew the place was empty, she moved as silently as possible. She was very hesitant to be here, very worried. It was hard to explain. She just…_felt_ wrong. Like there were eyes on her. Terrible, menacing eyes…she shivered.

Now, where was her bag? It was violet-colored, and was well-hidden in the shadows. She waded carefully through the room until she struck something. The contents of her bag spewed all over the floor. Sighing in frustration, she bent over to pick them up, until something caught her eye. It was an old, crumpled piece of sheet music. She recognized it immediately. It was a song her father used to sing to her, about an old folklore, _The Angel of Music_.

And suddenly, the entire days stress, the entire _weeks_, flooded her. Tears pricked her eyes. Oh, how she missed her father. She hadn't sung since he died, seven years ago. He was the last person she had ever sung with, and she had always wanted to keep it that way. But now, with this build-up of sadness and pain, and music her only outlet, she felt the need to sing. Holding the crinkly music sheet, she never felt closer to her father. It was like he was right beside her, urging her on. _Sing, my Christine, sing_, his voice implored. _Sing for me…_

Christine could not ignore these pleas. Closing her watery eyes, she took a deep breath and began. The words came easily to her, as if she had never stopped singing them. In her heart, she felt she hadn't. It had been mere minutes since she last sang, and her father was with her, alive and well.

_This is the part where Father would begin playing his violin…_ Suddenly, Christine's heart leapt violently. That…that was the sound…of a…a violin! She faltered, and a deep voice joined the violin. "_Keep singing…_"

Feeling compelled beyond reason, Christine continued to sing. The celestial violin music joined her, creating the most beautiful music she had ever head. When the song was over, Christine crumbled to her knees. Pressing a hand to her cooled cheeks, she realized tears had begun streaming down her face.

"Don't cry…" the Voice whispered, more a part of her mind than the real world.

She turned her gaze heavenward. "Father?" A pause. "Father," she sobbed into her hands. "You promised me…you told me you would send the Angel of Music…you promised…"

"Christine... I am the Angel of Music." Slowly, she raised her head from her hands. "I am your Angel of Music."

"The…the Angel of Music?" Christine didn't know what to believe. She was a devote Christian, but an Angel of Music? It was so far out there…But look at where she was now? Who else could the majestic voice be?

"Yes. I have come to you, my child."

"B-but why? Why now?"

"Shh, no questions," the Voice instructed. Christine swallowed. She knew the legend of the Angel of Music. He came to young artists, and whoever heard his music was touched with some of his magic. Singers' voices, musicians' playing, they all had a kind of heavenly quality. They didn't sound just beautiful, but crystal clear and pure. But what did this mean to her?

"Christine," the Voice continued. "I have come to teach you. Together, we will perfect your voice." The Voice paused a moment. "Do you trust me?"

Christine hesitated. It could all be one sick prank, but she didn't think so. No ordinary theatre jerk, no _human_, could sound like that. Even speaking, the Voice was magical. And it knew her name! She heard a voice say "Yes" and a moment later she realized it was hers.

A pressure seemed to be released in the room. A breath she didn't realize she had been holding whooshed out of Christine's lungs. After a long time, the Voice answered. "Good."

a/n: Thanks so much for reading! My ultimatum from A Different Path is the same. I need two reviews to upload the next chapter. On that note, I am still working on A Different Path, my other POTO fanfic. However, school's been really busy lately, and I will be updating the stories through popular demand. Whichever story gets the most reviews gets updated sooner. Sorry! As always, constructive criticism is welcome! Remember, review, review, review!


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